Raw Reflections: War Reporting, Motherhood and the Empathy Struggle

I can't watch violent films or television shows. When I accidentally spot a glimpse, those scenes become fixtures of my nightmares for days. 

"But it's make-believe," others often say. 

Only it is not. The worst of what humans do to others is jarringly real and happening at this very moment. There is nothing fictional about it, and in my mind, nothing entertaining. The world is a heavy place, and I cannot imagine finding enjoyment in seeing others hurt others. But that is just me.

Similarly, the recent Kentucky Derby struck another chord – a chilling reminder of an occasion I witnessed about fifteen years ago when a horse broke its leg in a race and was immediately put down as the thousands in the stands sipped champagne. 

When tragedy strikes, I find myself routinely obsessing—trying to learn as much as I can about what happened and why and feeling all the feelings of guilt and sadness when then trying to go about my daily life. Wars feels never-ending: the searing images of October 7, the tiny, lifeless bodies buried beneath the rubble in Gaza, the violated and terrified women clutching their babies in Darfur, or the notion of sweet, innocent humans running for their lives in Burma… when will it stop? How is this still happening in this day and age?

Often, the world feels like a kaleidoscope—a symphony of emotions, not just my own but a constant undercurrent of what everyone around me is experiencing. Some might say this hyper-awareness is a gift. But it can be a double-edged sword…